The Apparitions

Quietly sitting before a small fire,
A lone Indian begins a ceremonial respect.
Reaching into a pouch,
He brings out a matter of medicine.
Which he offers to the four winds,
To Mother Earth and all his relations.
And from his heart, soul and mind,
He speaks to the medicine,
Using a language taught to him,
A language carried through time,
By the apparitions before him,
His ancestors.

With words flowing from his heart,
Of the fire he speaks.
He ask the medicine for guidance,
To protect his people,
So that they will live a good life
And that their hearts, souls and minds,
Will be filled with the
Wisdom, knowledge and understanding
Of life and truth,
The traditional ways given to them,
As told through the medicine
By the apparitions before him,
His ancestors.

Gently he sprinkles the medicine upon the fire.
He has spoken words to the medicine
Using the old language of his people,
Words that the medicine knows.
For such words are of a language
That have been used for centuries
In such a sacred manner.
Words that the medicine recognizes,
Words of life that come from no book,
Words that in fact allow the medicine to work.
This the lone Indian knows,
For he is given a nod of approval
By the apparitions before him,
His ancestors.

And as the smoke heads upward,
Carrying the medicine and words,
An Eagle hover's above accepting the message,
Which will be delivered in a sacred manner.
And the apparitions of time gone by know
The Indian world will live on.
Such are the ways of a people,
Guided by apparitions of time gone by.
For here, there is no circus, no money,
No English words, no books, no mockery,
Just the reality of something very sacred,
Passed on to a people
By the apparitions who guide us,
The ancestors of yesterday...
Who guide only their people...